Lucky
by outtabreath
Summary: #3 in the Holidays Series. St. Patrick's Day is just an excuse for Luke and Lorelai to express their love.
1. Morning

Author's Note: Thanks again to Moosie MC, SaltyDog and apfelstrudel for taking ganders at this.

Disclaimer: Amy owns 'em, but she doesn't deserve 'em.

Warning: Smut ahead. Don't read it you don't like this kind of stuff.

**~*Lucky by outtabreath*~**

_**~Morning~**_

"They're green."

"They're festive."

"They have shamrocks on them."

"They're four-leaf clovers. For luck."

"I don't need luck."

I would kiss him for that if I weren't trying to win this argument. "They match mine," I persist.

"I noticed," he growls, "shamrocks look good on you." He moves quickly and begins to stroke and caress my new bra and panties.

I gasp his name and thrust my body forward into his hands, then come to my senses and twist away from the magic Luke-fingers. "Four-leaf clovers," I correct, backing away from him. "We can't do this. I've got to get to the inn."

"The inn can wait," he says, his voice low and husky and, damn it all, he's making me lose my focus: boxers, work, Lorelai. Boxers. Work.

"Hey Mr. I Asked Cesar To Open This Morning and Am Now a Lay-about, not everyone can stay in bed and have sex all morning."

"I don't want everyone to have sex all morning," he says, advancing on me again, "just you and me."

If he was wearing any clothes at all, I could've resisted him. If he were wearing a towel or boxers or skin-tight jeans, I would've been at the Dragonfly on schedule.

However, as he is clad only in all that glorious, golden Luke-skin, I am stripped of my new bra and panties and under him within seconds. He is kissing me and running his fingers down my torso; not to be outdone, I am kissing him right back and my hands are copping feel after feel of his arms and back.

This is wonderful and glorious and taking a little too much time, so I up the ante by arching up and capturing my fifth favorite part of Luke (the spot where his earlobe meets his neck) between my lips. His arms start to shake and he starts panting. I suck the sensitive skin further into my mouth and begin to alternate biting gently and licking; he's moaning and pushing my head into him (this is his third favorite place for me to play with) like he's worried I'll stop.

He's moaning my name and I swear I could make him come just by doing this. One day I'll find out for sure, but not today because all of his moaning and all of his skin has me wet and ready and I want him inside me. Now.

I roll over, pushing him with me, not letting go of his neck, and start to move my hips over him. I'm ready, he's ready — but friction is kind of fun and he's still gasping and I really don't want to let go of his neck and I'll have to in order to….

Unless he just takes over and surges up into me on his own.

"Don't stop," he moans, surging upwards with his hips and downwards with his fingers. He's tracing wide circles at the apex of my thighs and I'm meeting him stroke for stroke, keeping up with his punishing pace, recreating the sensation between my legs with my tongue on his neck. He narrows his circles around my clit, pressing harder and we're suddenly climaxing together. He's screaming my name and I finally release his skin to scream his.

I fall into a boneless heap beside him and let the shaking subside and the ringing in my ears fade. When the power of sight returns, I notice the angry red of the area right below his earlobe; I know it's going to bruise and, while I'm happy his unruly hair will cover the worst of it up, I still feel guilty. I kiss it gently and he sighs happily. I don't think he realizes that he's going to have a huge hickey on his neck, or maybe he just doesn't care.

"That's going to bruise," I murmur.

"I don't care."

So, it'd be option two after all. He's starting to pull me closer and I know I need to get out of this bed now or I'll never be able to do it. I smile against his skin, than jump up. He lets out a throaty little cry of disappointment and I bolt to the bathroom.

He's still splayed out in my bed when I get back and he looks so warm and cuddly that it takes every little bit of my incredible willpower to not climb right back in with him. He watches me get dressed, a satiated little smile playing around the edges of his mouth.

When I'm finally ready, I put the boxer shorts carefully by his feet, kiss him, tell him I love him and say, "Just give in and wear 'em Luke. A little holiday spirit won't kill you."

Then I am running down my stairs and out my front door, off to the inn, way too late for a Thursday.


	2. Afternoon

Disclaimers, etc. in chapter 1.

_**~Afternoon~**_

"I can't believe you wore green." I'm standing in the doorway of the diner, staring at my boyfriend who is, incredibly, wearing green flannel. I didn't know he even owned green flannel.

"I didn't want Miss Patty pinching me all day. She does it enough anyway."

I sidle toward him, "Well, who can resist pinching you?" I reach the counter and lean over for my coffee break kiss. The brief touching of lips isn't enough; I'm remembering how he looked when I left him in my bed this morning and I want to throw every single green-clad townsperson out into the cold so I drag him upstairs and strip off the flannel and the turtleneck and kiss his hickey and move my lips downwards and….

Luke waves a to-go cup of coffee in my face and breaks me out of my daze o' lust. I blink, grab it and swallow — than choke. How's it I always forget coffee is hot? I blame Luke's succulent body. How's a girl supposed to focus on anything else?

He sighs and hands me an ice cube. Like that's going to help. I hold the damn thing and let it melt in my fingers and watch his arms flex under the flannel and think about running it all over him, starting with the bruise I left him with this morning.

Yeah. I need to get a handle on this.

He gives me a mega-watt smile and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He winks at me and I'm a goner. Handle, schmandle. I want to do dirty, dirty things to him.

"Are you wearing anything else green?" I whisper, batting my eyelashes and tilting my head. I'm seriously considering unleashing the hair flip.

He smirks and rolls his eyes. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Well, duh. I'm just about ready to grab him, yank him upstairs and find out for sure when Kirk whirls in and disrupts my plans to defile the delectable Luke.

Kirk's dressed like a Leprechaun and smells, surprisingly, of beer. "I am engaged!" he shouts, lifting his arms in victory. "I AM ENGAGED!" He teeters a little and we all wait for him to topple over completely. He stops himself and grins widely at Luke. "And you're my best man."

"Where's your fiancé?" shouts Gypsy, who's sitting alarmingly close to Andrew at a corner table.

Kirk spins to look at her, and I think his big, buckled hat is going to topple and take him with it, but he recovers and says, "Lulu."

"Not who," Gypsy says, shaking her head and making her green ribbons flop and hit Andrew in the face, "because, really, who else? Where is she?"

Kirk stands very still for ten seconds while his face goes white, right to the edge of the false beard he's got glued to his face; then he's running to the door, spilling gold coins out of the pot he's got clutched in his left hand.

I turn to look at Luke, who is staring at me with a stunned expression in his eyes. "Best man?" he says numbly.

"Always," I grin, simultaneously kissing him, picking up my coffee and turning to leave. Seducing Luke will have to wait; stripping him naked and kissing every luscious inch of him until he screams my name'll have to…happen right now. No. It. Will. Have. To wait. Sookie needs to hear about Kirk and Lulu immediately.

As I leave, I notice Andrew whispering into Gypsy's ear. I think Gypsy's blushing. She's definitely giggling. Weird. I look back to Luke for his reaction to this. He's still looking like someone just hit him with a brick.


	3. Night

Disclaimers, etc. in chapter 1.

_**~Night~  
**_  
The town is still buzzing about Kirk's engagement. Luke is still stunned about being Kirk's best man. I still want to know what Luke has on under his incredibly tight jeans.

I love holidays.

I'm standing in the middle of Luke's apartment clad only in my holiday-themed underwear. Luke is standing frozen in his doorway, his eyes glazed with lust and his flannel unbuttoned. I flip my hair and he practically runs to me, ripping off his shirts and mumbling something about shamrocks.

I wait until he's two feet from me and hold up a hand. "Stop." He does, panting. I'm thinking that has nothing to do with the little dash he's just completed. "Pants off, please," I command — hands on my hips.

Luke smirks and toes off his sneakers and socks then pushes his jeans down slowly, letting me get an eyeful of four-leaf clovers.

"You wore 'em!" I shout — victorious that I got Luke Danes to partake in some holiday spirit. Partake with me, at least; he better not have been partaking with anyone else.

He shakes off the jeans and stands before me clad in boxers and skin and I shudder in response. The boxers are cute, but they are covering up my second and third favorite parts of Luke. I glide to stand in front of him and give him a smile, "you look really good in those," I yank them down, "but you look even better out of them." He grabs me and kicks the underwear off his feet at the same time. Dexterous, Luke is dexterous, then Luke's kissing me and what does dexterous mean and why am I thinking about anything but his lips and his hands and…oh…my bra is now halfway across the room and we are moving back towards his bed.

He stops me from toppling backwards, yanks my panties down and, for the second time today, the festive four-leaf clover-covered underwear are thrown carelessly on the floor.

Luke settles in the middle of the bed and I join him. We sit facing each other, my legs spread up and over his. We kiss forever — long and deep kisses, short and hard kisses, fluttering kisses over cheeks and foreheads and noses, pecks at the corner of mouths. Neither of us is inclined to do much else anytime soon. Kissing Luke is fun and arousing and peaceful and, oh holy hell.

"You actually got into this holiday," I mumble against his lips; he almost diverted me again.

"Not exactly," he mumbles back.

"You did, too. You wore green and the shamrock boxers."

"Four-leaf clovers and I wore them because it was important to you," he corrects, "and wearing green was purely self-preservation." We're still kissing — I like to talk and he likes to kiss and we have found a way to do both at the same time. (I like the kissing, too, but don't tell Luke that. He thinks I've compromised for him).

"Just admit that holidays aren't the worse thing ever."

"Some holidays are fine," he concedes. "Any holiday that celebrates beer is a good holiday in my book."

"Cynic," I murmur.

"Sometimes."

"Grumpy."

"Usually."

Is it sick that this is turning me on? Do I care? Not so much, because Luke is starting to nibble on my neck and I'm turning into a quivering heap of Lorelai-Jell-O and we are now moving into the dirty portion of the evening. The dirtier portion of the evening.

He's working his lips and teeth up and down the tendons of my neck and I whimper a little, pressing closer to him — inviting him to move his amazing mouth lower.

He ignores me.

"Luke," I keen.

"Hmmm?" The vibrations on my pulse-point are dizzying.

"A little lower, please."

"Lower where?"

He wants to bring it? I'll bring it …right after he stops sucking on my shoulder.

I reflexively grab his hands and try to pull them up from my hips. He resists. I tug harder. He resists harder. This will not go unanswered. Luke will not be allowed to ignore my implicit request to lavish attention on my breasts.

I let go of his hands and run my fingers through his soft hair, lulling him into a false sense of security. That I am enjoying myself is inconsequential, he will pay. Right after he stops licking my collarbone in that unbelievable way.

I feel his hands relax a bit and I yank one up and pull back from him at the same time. He's startled, until I deliberately take his middle finger into my warm and wet mouth. Our eyes are locked and I slowly increase the pressure. I tighten my teeth over the base, I run my tongue along the length. I suck. I swirl. Never, not once, do I loosen my hold on his finger or on his eyes, waiting for the second his eyes darken from indigo to black.

And there they go, folks. I have now turned Lucas William Danes into a lust-crazed maniac. I'd hoot if my mouth weren't busy, but I'm not quite done with him. I pull back to nip at the pad, then suck the entire digit back into my mouth and increase the suction. He blinks slowly, then rips his finger from my mouth and simultaneously thrusts his tongue between my lips and his fingers between my legs.

Several frenzied moments later, we break from the kissing and fondling to stare at each other. He slides me forward and onto him. I expand to take him in and we sit quietly, getting used to the sensations, getting lost in each other's eyes. In silent accord, we begin to gently rock. He's sliding his fingers along my shoulder blades and stroking the sides of my breasts with his thumbs; I'm running my nails down his chest and across his stomach. He gasps my name and I moan his. He grabs the back of my head, thrusting his hand deep into my hair, and pulls me to his mouth.

He plunges deep between my lips and between my legs. He murmurs against my lips, love words, sex words, my name — sentiments I echo back. The tension begins to build - slow, deep, maddening — in this position our orgasms come slow — in ever-increasing waves — amazing sensations that hit hard and empty my lungs of oxygen and send my heart-rate into the stratosphere.

We just smile at each other for a good five minutes as the after-shocks die down. No matter how often we do that to each other, it's still astounding and miraculous. Finally, he eases me off of him and kisses me. We settle back onto the bed, entangling our legs and arms as I settle my cheek on his chest and listen to my favorite part of Luke begin to slow down. He strokes my hair and tells me he loves me and I tell him back and there is a moment of silence.

But just a moment.

"Told you those boxers were lucky."

He tightens his hand in my hair and his chuckle reverberates through my whole body. Twenty seconds later, his breathing begins to slow and deepen. As he drifts off, I smile because I know how very lucky, festive four-leaf clover underwear or not, we both are.


End file.
